fucked.

I can't even...

b&w

the lost month

I don't know the difference with this one. He's my friend but I can't keep my hands to myself when I'm with him. He's my friend but he's tasted my lips and touched almost every part of me. He's my friend and I know his smell. He's my friend who I think about more than some.

Im confusing his sweet sweet attention with something else, some kind of attraction, and its consuming my nights and ruining my body. Because that's something I would do, fall for an unavailable mess. 

But oh how nice it is to touch.
(up on the counter, under the lunch table, behind the bar)
(waking up side by side, his hand on my ass, wine spilled around us)

what a wonderful mess we've made of June.

cryinginyourcar

I'm really unhappy about how I've chosen to handle everything in the past few days. As if I needed to wonder when or where the emo would hit or if it even would. Because of course, right then and there it comes like a fucking heavy flow, a period-in-theory rife with teary eyes and tummy trembling anxiety instead of blood.
I'm upset and I know why but it's like I'm in this hole and I can't see the light. My brain is telling me fuck them! Keep damaging your relationships! They don't matter! But what the fuck, why can't I see how fucked up that is. I think I'm alone now...

thinkingandactingandsuckingthelifeoutofitall

I felt rejected.

Start with admitting that statement, and the rest flows smoothly with a little bit of coercing. After massaging into that flaky scalp of resentment and disappointment, qualities usually filed under "weak" and "not me", I opened up a world of what is going on in my brain from surface to the deepest of consciousness.

For one, I despise relying on other people for events and concerts and parties that I want to go to. And while I'm lucky to connect with an amazing group of talented and involved friends, it boils down to my inability to create those opportunities for myself. This realization sucks but feels really freeing at the same time, as now I can cultivate my own interests to lead to experience the stimulation and creative energy I seek. This town's guts are full of shit and full of possibilities, and I can't imagine spending another year feeling like I haven't gotten down and dirty within both piles. How to do this without "selling my soul" will be the next challenge, as I also slightly hate myself for even wanting to be invited to vapid soulless parties full of hangers on.

I suppose its the desire to be desired that peaks my curious little brain. Having enough to offer is not what scares me. What scares me is not being able to box it up into a tidy nutrition label. Am I a writer/designer/blogger? Am I a lowly web servant working for a startup internet company? Do I curate a magazine that I've yet to launch? Selling your goods when you don't know what product you are is what fucking scares me. The idea of me me me and wanting to go to a lykke li afterparty and the chateau marmont is what scares me.

Because we are all so fucking selfish. But it's a beautiful thing sometimes because our own selfish desires push us to improve, and to flex those little brain muscles which in turn we use to give. I got caught up in my own selfish shit pile and my dear friend was able to listen let me rant and get me out. I feel like I should be paying her sometimes because that 30 minute phone conversation took me down a different cosmic tubule. I jumped in and washed off my makeup and my caked on rage and sat down to let it all out.

I'll get there soon enough.